Broken Pieces
by lolbeawesome
Summary: Clary struggles with anorexia, and Jace deals with alcoholism. Both of them are broken, pieces on the floor. Will they ever heal? Because sometimes, people stay broken. AU/ AH. Clace, some Malec and Simabelle.
1. Chapter 1

When you run away from something, it never truly escapes you. Maybe it's the sheer memory of it in the back of your mind; maybe it's the whisper you hear on the wind. Or perhaps it's the first thing you think of every morning; still a fresh wound no matter how long it's been. It may have been forever, but here you are, a million miles away, and you're still thinking about it.

Some things go beyond skin deep. Some things leave scars so deep in your mind that they never fade, regardless of time. But somehow, you get through it, and when you come out, you are on top.

Things come and go; fashion, people, and most importantly time. But every second counts. What if you were a minute late to the coffee shop you always go to, and your soul mate left the minute before. What if you never saw him again?

Or what if that driver had looked up a second earlier, or left that party that much earlier? Maybe that person who died would have lived.

Unless you believe in destiny, that a magical force will find us no matter what we do. That even if those two people at the coffee shop never met that day, they would find each other some other time. Or that person who died was going to die anyways; they were going to commit suicide.

Do you believe that we are all broken, that we are all missing a puzzle piece in our life? That there is one person that will complete that?

What about you? Are you broken?

CPOV

Cold. That was the first thought that came into my head as I woke up. The bitter cold seeped into my bones, and I yawned once, hating the alarm clock for waking me up. New York wasn't exactly the warmest place in December, and sometimes I wished I was in Florida, or someplace warm.

But New York was amazing; I wasn't complaining. There was something about the city that made you feel alive, feel like you could do anything. It was as if the city itself had a heartbeat; the honking of the taxis, the talking of the people, and just the crazy chaos that was New York. My favorite thing to do was to sit in a window, and draw what I saw. People, cars, or even a building, it didn't matter.

Art was a way of expressing myself, and a disillusioned reality. What I drew was the superficial world of business and the rich, and the sharp contrast with abject poverty. It reflected my life somehow, especially the fact that my life had been a combination of highs and lows.

"Clary," my roommate, Isabelle groaned, rolling over in bed. "I hate mornings," she complained.

Even with a messy bun on her head, and in an oversized shirt and boy shorts, Isabelle looked stunning. Her beauty surpassed anything mine could ever be; I was simply scrawny with no curves, and a flat chest. There was no way I could feel even remotely pretty around Isabelle, but that was okay. She was my best friend, and she had been my support system when I could barely hold myself up.

"I'm going to Starbucks, okay Izzy? Can I get you anything while I'm there?" I asked her, while looking at myself in the mirror.

I was wearing dark wash jeans, a burgundy cardigan, a black shirt, as well as black boots. My hair was pulled back into a low bun, and I didn't really bother with makeup. Unlike Isabelle, I didn't really care about how much skin I showed, or how sexy I looked. I just wanted to be _me_, and let people like me for who I really was.

From past experiences, I had learned that it was better to be yourself. Trying to fit in had pulled me under, so deep that it had been so hard to dig myself out of that whole.

"Coffee," she yawned, her head falling against the pillow again. I knew that she'd be in bed practically day; each weekend was pretty much the same for us.

Walking outside, I shivered a bit. Even after a couple years in New York, I still hated winters. After a minute or so, I crossed the street, when the little white man appeared on the signal. Opening the door to Starbucks, I inhaled the scent of freshly brewed coffee, and newly made pastries.

"Clary," Alec greeted me. I had been coming to this Starbucks for as long as I'd lived in New York; it was my little safe haven from the world. It had coffee; I could survive. I had been coming to this Starbucks as long as I'd lived in New York; it was my little safe haven from the world. It had coffee; I could survive. Alec was like a brother to me, which is to say he knew me well enough to embarrass me, and was completely overprotective. Still, I could trust him with my secrets, and he trusted me with his. I'd been the first person he'd confessed to that he was gay.

"Alec," I replied, going to him and giving him a quick hug. Alec was gorgeous, and maybe even hot. His piercing blue eyes contrasted with his dark hair. I'd fallen for him, before I'd known he was gay. He was quiet and shy, and the polar opposite of his boyfriend, Magnus Bane. Magnus was flamboyant, a party animal, and not to mention sparkly. His clothes, his nails, his hair- it all glittered. But they say opposites attract, and it couldn't be more true. You could see in the way they looked at each other that it was meant to be. Like it was destined, before either one of them had even set foot on this earth.

Alec handed me a cup of steaming hot coffee, black, and I inhaled the scent. There had been a time where I had practically lived on coffee, and nothing else.

"Thanks," I said gratefully, and he smiled.

"You and your coffee, Clary. I swear to god, if coffee was a person, you'd be married by now."

I laughed at him, rolling my eyes, and he shrugged his shoulders, turning towards the table he was supposed to be cleaning.

"Hey, Alec?" I asked, my voice timid and hesitant.

"Yeah?" he replied, not even looking my way. It wasn't that he didn't care- I knew he did, it was just that he wanted stop working at Starbucks, and pursue his dreams. Alec was a genius- so genius that sometimes people didn't really understand him. Because of that, he'd kept to himself, in his shell. Once I got to know Alec, I'd wondered why people wouldn't like somebody like him- he was sarcastic, funny, and loyal. There wasn't anybody like him in my life.

"Can I get one of those coffee cakes?" I whispered, looking at the floor.

Alec whipped his head around his face so fast, his hair flew around a second slower than the rest of his body. "Did you just say what I just thought you said?"

I blushed and nodded, staring at the hardwood floor as if there was something new there I hadn't seen before.

Alec grabbed a coffee cake, a napkin, and handed it to me, waving away the money. "Don't worry about it, Clary. It's on the house. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," I swallowed, taking the cake and looking at it straight in the eye. This was just another thing I was going to conquer. Don't think about the calories, or the fat, Clary, I told myself. Doesn't matter, you promised yourself you wouldn't. You can do it, I encouraged myself. Leaning forward, I took a bite, and it tasted really good. But there was a voice nagging me in the back of my head, telling me to think about how much sugar was in this.

Alec came over, and gave me a hug. "You show that anorexia, Clary. You're almost recovered, right?"

"Yeah," I nodded, wanting desperately not to talk about it. "I'm almost done with the outpatient program, and then I'm going to do a bit of counseling. Then I'm done!"

Alec looked like he wanted to say something, but then a blonde boy stumbled in, clearly drunk. Even as a drunk idiot, he was breathtakingly beautiful; even Isabelle paled in comparison. In one word, he was golden. Literally. He had golden eyes, golden hair, and even a golden tan. His clothes were, however black.

"I'm here to take my shift, Alec. Go home and have some fun!" he slurred. He turned towards me, nodded once, and winked. "Nice girlfriend you have there."

"Jace," Alec said softly, "You're drunk, go home. I'll take your shift." He took the boy's- I assumed his name was Jace- shoulder, and pointed him towards the door.

Jace left, and I looked questioningly at Alec. "That's Jace," he sighed, looking worried.

"It's like, seven in the morning. What, did he have vodka with his cereal or something?"

"I think he did," Alec said solemnly. "He's an alcoholic, and there's nothing he can do about it. Apparently, his dad was one too, and got him hooked."

"Hey Alec? I gotta go, see you later," I told him, rushing a bit, grabbing Izzy's coffee. He nodded at me, and turned back to work.

Crossing the road, I walked to our apartment, greeting a half-awake Izzy with a cup of coffee.

"You are my savior, Clary," she said dramatically, taking a long sip of coffee. "Oh my god, I think I am in love," she moaned, dancing a bit with the coffee.

"Um, Izzy? How tired are you exactly?"

"None, now that I've had my coffee," she replied, her voice perky, and obviously under the influence of caffeine. The two of us were coffee addicts. It didn't matter what blend, what brew, or if it was hot or cold. Coffee was our first love, something we couldn't live without.

"Hey, Izzy? Guess what? I had cake today," I exclaimed excitedly. Her face beamed as a huge grin appeared on her face.

"Oh my god, Clare Bear! I am so freaking proud of you right now," she yelled, not really caring who heard her. Pulling me into a hug while bouncing up and down, she began to go a bit mental. I figured that coffee and good news combined was not the best option for Izzy.

"Enough of this, we're going to celebrate," she told me. It was a statement, not a question.

"How?"

"Clary, I think you know," she replied, a mischievous smile dancing on her face, lighting up her features. It couldn't be- no. I refused to even think about setting foot in a mall. The last time I did, terrible consequences such as owning a miniskirt had made my life miserable.

"Not the mall," I whimpered, looking at her with puppy eyes. "Isn't this my celebration anyways?"

"Yes, it's a celebration that you've almost completely beat this anorexia, so you know you are perfect the way you are. And what better way to show that then to wear sexy clothes?"

"I think my clothes are fine," I protested, looking down at my outfit. They were comfortable, well-worn, and I didn't mind them at all. Izzy had another opinion, however, as she tsked, shaking her head.

"Clary, if you want to be seen with me, you have to look at least decent," Isabelle replied authoritatively. "Now, hurry up and put that miniskirt on. No, I don't care about the weather," she added as I began to argue with her. "It's warm inside the mall, anyways. Plus, when I come back, I'll give you a makeover."

Even though I hated the makeovers Izzy gave me, I still let her use me as a life sized Barbie doll from time to time. I knew she was just being Izzy, which is to say completely and overwhelming obsessed about looks. Sometimes, you just have to do nice things for your best friend.

"Fine," I gave in finally. It really was no use arguing with Izzy; she always won. There was an air of confidence around her, no matter what she did- even if she was wrong, that I did not even have remotely.

She squealed, running to her closet, muttering something about Hollister. I hated all the Abercrombie stores, because they were dark, and played really loud music. However, Izzy had every intention of taking me there.

Oh god. What had I gotten myself into?

**There you go :O This is different from Familiar Stranger- and I KNOW I'm going to update that pretty soon, if you read that, it's in progress. **

**Lemme know what you think? I actually worked really really hard on this- can you tell? It's longer than most FS strangers **

**LEAVE A REVIEW? Pretty please? (insert Clary's puppy eyes here)**

**Oh, and of course I don't own TMI. Sadly, none of it, though I'm planning on changing that.**

**Review? **** Two people will get a sneak peek- just bc I figured out how to use docX. **


	2. Chapter 2

Disappointment. We have all experienced it one time or another in our lives. Maybe it's when you got a bad grade on something you worked hard on. Perhaps it's when you didn't make the soccer team, or during a hard breakup.

Sometimes, it's bone-crushing, outright devastating disappointment. Other times, it's just a flicker, something you'll forget in the next day or so.

What about doubt? How many people can believe in themselves when everybody around them thinks they are wrong? Can you stand up for yourself even when forces- humans or something else- is pushing you down?

Does doubt ever affect disappointment? What about when you really liked that one guy, and you were too scared to be rejected to ask him to dance? And then, you watch enviously, maybe shedding tears as you watch some lucky girl dance with him. You wished you were that girl- confident, cool, and popular. But maybe, just maybe, if you hadn't doubted yourself, you would have danced with him.

Or that guy in your grade who is just hooked onto drugs- it's too late to save him now. Maybe, if somebody had supported him, told him that he would get through this- or even if he had convinced himself he was strong enough- he wouldn't have been in the hospital right now, nothing more than a mere shadow.

When you're disappointed, you most likely beat yourself up about it, thinking about how you could have tried harder, pushed yourself to your limit. But sometimes, you have pushed yourself harder- harder than most people would've. Perhaps it was because of other forces- such as when other people doubt you, or your ability.

Does doubt in somebody just make disappointment inevitable?

JPOV

My life had become completely and utterly meaningless, both to me, and those around me. By some tiny gene, I had inherited my father's alcoholism, and I hated that. How could one, microscopic little _thing_, hidden somewhere, deep in my body, change my life so much?

After my mother had died, my father had become cold and calculating, to a degree even slightly crazy. He had resorted to drinking to drown out his fears, preferring a blurred reality to the actual thing. Not that I blamed him, of course. Reality was a harsh place, and it was a bitter world.

I would rather dream.

But somehow, I had become just like him- drinking until I couldn't see straight any more. People had expected it, so that was who I had become. Pandemonium, full of scantily clad girls, and people grinding each other had become normal to me. And the girls that came up to, enthralled with my looks? I welcomed them, feeling good that at least they found me interesting enough to flirt with.

I was the heartbreaker to them. One girl after another, after another, all of them faceless and nameless had ended up in tears because of me, at one point or another. It didn't matter to me, because tears made you stronger. To love was to destroy, my father had told me as my mother was lowered into the cold, empty ground. And I had believed him, being the little ten year old I was. All I knew was that my mother was gone, apparently in a better place, but she had left me to get there.

Money? It didn't mean a thing to me. My father was a successful businessman- or more like he had been before my mother had died. After that, he had sold his multibillion company to some new, up-and-coming entrepreneur.

The same company he had promised me I would own someday.

So the money he had earned from it meant nothing to me. It was just paper with no value whatsoever. Material things meant absolutely nothing to me- hell, I could buy the whole Abercrombie chain and have enough money to go to college six times if I wanted to. And what I hated most about that was that while I had so much money, there were people struggling just to stay alive, and there were people dying of diseases.

And yet, I was nothing more than arrogant, with an ever- present smirk that girls fell for each time. I was nothing more than a boy who had a fortune to spend all alone once his madman of a father, who hoarded his money like a greedy dragon.

Oddly enough, even though I firmly believed that to love was to destroy, I didn't want to be alone. I had never found one girl, though, in all of the girls I had met and briefly dated, I never remembered any of them. None of them stuck out- they all tried too hard to fit in.

Last night at the club had been hard, and I woke up red eyed with a pounding headache, looking one the other side of me. I breathed a sigh of relief as I realized there was no girl next to me. I had brought home girls, and had had my share of drunken sex.

My best friend, Sebastian, lay next to me, obviously dealing with the hangover, as well. It obviously hadn't been too long, and I was still partially drunk.

Alcohol. The thought of it tantalized me, taunting me like that bully that teased me, back when I was six years old. I gazed helplessly at the half-full bottle of vodka, almost as if having a stare-down with it.

Finally, I gave in, taking a great swig of it, and welcoming the sear as it went down my throat.

"And good morning to you, Jace," Sebastian groaned, automatically reaching for the Advil on his nightstand. "Damn, what a hangover!"

"Your fault for getting so drunk," I shrugged, and he laughed, the sound loud and slightly obnoxious.

"As if you didn't get drunk. What about that vodka you're drinking right now?"

"So? You don't hear me complain," I shrugged. "Hey, did you see that girl you attempted to flirt with a couple nights ago?"

"No," he moaned. Sebastian had been captivated by an elusive redhead, who had been wearing modest clothes, and while she wasn't exactly standard beauty, she had her own beauty. He'd tried to flirt with her, but she'd just ignored him, preferring to stand in the sidelines while her friend danced.

I glanced at the clock once. "Shit! Work," I gasped, running a comb through my hair while brushing my teeth in an attempt to look halfway decent. Sebastian tossed me my work shirt, and I scrambled, looking in the mirror, pulling on some mostly clean jeans. Then, before I left, I took a quick swing of vodka, grinning and then heading out.

New York had gotten cold, bitterly cold, and I shivered a bit. I knew guys were supposed to be all macho and not care, but it was too cold not to. It had been too long since I'd been outside like this- usually I hailed a taxi to take me to work, but it was a waste of time, not to mention money. New York had changed on me while I'd gotten drunk and partied.

And I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

I saw Alec, grinning and giving a girl a hug. That wasn't just any girl. That was the same girl who Sebastian had fallen in love with. I snorted to myself. Typical Sebastian, trying to hit on a taken girl. I had to admit, watching Alec talk to her, it sparked something in me. Jealously bloomed in me, and all I wanted in that moment was to have somebody steady to rely on. Sebastian, he was wild and untamable. I needed firm ground to stand on, and that was one of many things money couldn't buy.

Money couldn't buy me happiness, either.

I took a deep breath and walked inside, telling Alec, "It's my shift, go have some fun," wincing internally as I heard my voice slur a bit. "Nice girlfriend," I added, winking at the red head, who looked at me with an expression I couldn't place.

Sympathy? Disgust?

"Jace, you're drunk," Alec said softly, pushing me gently towards the door. I didn't argue; I knew as well as he did that if I stayed here, I'd do more harm than good. But still, I felt guilty. Alec had done my shift way too many times ever since I'd been working here.

The girl peered at me curiously, and I flashed a grin at her- the one that always made girls swoon. But somehow, she didn't seem affected- or if she was, she wasn't showing it. Instead, as I left, she turned back to Alec, and I swear I heard him say my name.

He whispered something in a hushed voice to her, and she nodded, sympathy shining in her eyes. So they were talking about me.

I hated the sympathy, the look people gave me when they knew my story. It was as if they were saying, "My life sucks, but your life sucks more."

I already knew just how much my life sucked.

The girl turned and left, waving goodbye to Alec, coffee in hand. He smiled once, turning back to his work. Again, I felt guilty. He should be leaving with her, but instead he was working my shift.

"Jacey," an overly-sweet voice crooned in my ear, and I turned around to see Aline, my on-and-off girlfriend standing next to me.

"Hello, Aline," I nodded briefly.

"Gee, Jace. I feel loved," she said sarcastically, extending her arms for a hug. I obliged, blocking my nose from the sickly scent of her perfume. Everything about Aline was superficial- you couldn't find one real thing about her.

I kept her around occasionally because she wore practically nothing, and we were friends with benefits, nothing more. Although sometimes, I wasn't completely sure she understood that.

"You're drunk, aren't you," she said flatly, not as a question, but as a statement.

"Yeah," I replied, not caring what she thought. I partied, met girls, had sex, the end. I guessed in a way it was harsh and cruel, but it was how I'd lived the last three years of my life.

I was a player, the guy that made every girl who ever met him fall in love. And then I had broken their hearts, every single one. To me it was absolutely nothing more than a petty game, and strangely enough, it was okay. I had done this so many times, I couldn't even count the number with all my hands and feet. It was a strangely surreal experience, breaking a girl's heart. They were so fragile at first, but then they turned angry, and then they weren't so seemingly gentle anymore.

Aline rolled her eyes at me, and I grinned back.

"I will never understand why girls take to you so much, Lightwood."

"Oh, I think you know why, Aline," I responded, waggling my eyebrows a bit, to which she replied to with a laugh.

"I find Sebastian more attractive. Speaking of which, is he single?"

"Apparently, since the girl he obsessed over is taken," I snorted, gesturing towards Alec.

"Really? I heard-" here she leaned over confidentially, her voice a whisper, "That he's gay."

"Dunno," I shrugged. I didn't know much about Alec, only that he was pretty shy, and that he was nice enough to help me out.

"Oh, Jace. When will you stop being so absorbed in yourself?"

"I am not!" I protested. She pointed to a mirror in response, to which I smiled at myself, fixing my hair again. Her only response was a pointed glare in my direction.

"Okay, so maybe I'm a little bit vain. But I can't help it! Look at this face, and this body," I said.

"Look, I gotta go take some more photos," she told me, gesturing to her camera. "But while I'm gone, try to deflate your egotistical brain, would you?"

"You know you love me," I called out to her as she turned around walking away, her heels clicking on the pavement.

When I didn't get a reply, I shrugged, turning towards home.

Some things never changed.

**A/N: Ughh horrible endings -_- They usually come pretty fast to me, but for some reason this story is harder to write endings for.**

**Thank you for all your follows, faves, and reviews **** I love you all, virtual hugs and cookies for all of you.**

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**- Lolbeawesome**


	3. Chapter 3

wwA conversation is an interesting thing. Sometimes, it's the most meaningful thing to somebody, like a last conversation with somebody- one that you will remember, word for word for the rest of your life. Other times, it's just an idle conversation, one you could live without. A conversation may consist of it being the most important thing to one person, but absolutely nothing to the other. Remember, next time you engage in a seemingly pointless conversation with somebody, it could mean something completely different to them.

You know that couple, sitting there by the coffee shop? Three years ago, they sat in those very seats as nothing more than strangers, making idle conversation. Yet here they are, those three long years later, rings on their fingers. Conversations can mean absolutely nothing to you now may mean the world to you a second, a minute, a month, a year later.

Words make up conversations; sometimes just a hundred, other times hundreds of thousands of words. Words are one of the most powerful things; whoever said, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me," was an idiot. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but that's physical, and physical wounds heal. Mental wounds stay longer- much longer than a broken bone will.

Do you believe in love at first sight? That two people are just somehow meant to be, aligned by fate, destiny, or some outside force? No matter where they met, no words needed, they are connected irreversibly, and you know in the end there is always a happy ending like in the movie.

Or do you think that there's no such thing as live at first sight, only simple and petty infactuation? Do you think that words and conversations are necessary to create a real relationship? That nothing is like the movies- life isn't as perfect as the movies, with handsome princes and happily-ever-afters? Are the real relationships the ones built on emerging love, sturdy and steady, or ones that are volatile, unsteady, built only on lust?

Have you ever been completely, irreversibly, head-over-heels in love with somebody?

CPOV

I woke up, cursing Mondays and alarm clocks, my eyes still heavy with sleep. My sketchbook lay on one side of my bed, the page open to a half-finished piece I had started last night. Art, in some ways, was my savior from anorexia. Anorexia for me hadn't been a consious decision- subconsiously, I had started eating less and less until I was living on practically nothing.

It had set me free, from all the people who called me fat because I wasn't them- skinny girls with enough confidence to wear almost nothing. I was just me; I was just Clary, the artist geek who wore ratty jeans and old shirts.

But anorexia had also been my prison; the fact that I'd been weak enough to succumb to social pressure, or that anything over a hundred calories had become my nemesis. Coffee, black and strong, had become my sole source of energy; the only reason I was still functioning during that time period. The aftermath had been that I was treated like a small child- micromanaged to the smallest detail, as if I couldn't be trusted with anything. There was some truth in this, I supposed, but for me, as a fairly independent person, it had been difficult. Isabelle had been my sole confident, my stronghold and support system.

Isabelle, who was currently sprawled across her bed, somehow managing to look beautiful even with a bedhead. She had a sort of effortless, flawless beauty that most girls envied- unlike the girls who were beautiful in an overmakeuped way.

I envied her, too, the way boys looked at her, her confidence- there was a brain behind that beauty. Isabelle was pursuing an MBA; her dream was to become a fashion designer, but she wanted to become sucessful on her own. If there was one flaw on such a flawless person, it would be the fact that she had hubris- she thought she could do everything on her own. She was afraid to show vurnerability- all she wanted to show people was the confident, sexy side of her.

Pulling on jeans and a shirt, and applying just enough makeup so that Isabelle wouldn't complain, I slipped out the door for my morning ritual of coffee at Starbucks while talking to Alec. When the cold air greeted me, I shivered in reply. Even in the early morning, New York was alive. The honking of cars and cabs, shops turning on their lights, ready for the day- this was a constant I almost needed in my life. It had been vibrant even when my life hadn't been, and the noise had become a comfort.

Approaching Starbucks, I opened the door, breathing in the smell of fresh brewed coffee and just-baked pastries. The bell on the door chimed gaily, and I smiled, waiting for Alec to show up with a cup of coffee in hand. When he didn't show up, I blinked, surprised.

"Alec?"

Nothing happened. And then suddenly, the door for the back room swung open, and I smiled, ready to greet Alec. It was him though, and I took in a breath, shocked. Instead of Alec, a golden beauty- an angel in the form of a man stood in front of me.

"Hi," I said, my voice timid. "Jace, right?"

"Don't pretend you don't know who I am," he snapped. "I heard Alec telling you about me."

"Okay, since I know who you are, why don't I introduce myself?"

"I know who you are. You're Alec's girlfriend," he replied, his voice caked with either bitterness or jealously, I couldn't tell.

"So you don't know anything about me. I'm Clary, and I'm just a friend of his. Where is Alec, anyways?"

"He's covered enough of my shifts. I figured I'd cover some of his," he shrugged.

"Oh," I said awkwardly. "So can I get some coffee?"

"What do you want?"

"Black," I replied, almost instinctually.

He chuckled. "That must be a hell of a hangover, Princess."

"I'm not hungover," I said defensively. "I just like black coffee." He just smirked at me in a way that both infuriated me and made me blush. A couple seconds later, he passed a cup of coffee- strong, black, and without sugar, just the way I liked it.

"Why were you looking for Alec, anyways?"

"It's just something we do every morning- I get coffee and we talk," I shrugged.

"Well then, I owe you a conversation."

"Nah, I'm good," I said, heading towards a seat by the window.

"I insist," he replied, "If that's part of Alec's shift, I'll take it."

I rolled my eyes at him, taking out my sketchbook as he approached me, sitting in the chair across from mine. He glanced over, a peculiar expression crossing his face. "It's not my best..." I said uncertainly.

"Damn, you can draw, Princess," he managed to say after a short period of silence. "Like, that's real talent right there, I'm telling you. Someday you're gonna be the next Picasso or one of those famous artists."

"You don't know any more famous artists, do you? But thanks. I think."

"I do know more artists," he protested lamely, and then giving in when I shot him a look. "Okay, so I don't. But I bet I know piano artists then you do," and I nodded my head, conceeding. Alec had told me that he was a student at Julliard for piano. I wondered how such a brilliant pianist- you obviously had to be good to go to Julliard- was low enough to become an alcoholic. "Mind if I have a look at your sketchbook?"

I didn't know what to say to that. My sketchbook, my art- it was the equivalent of a diary to somebody else. It held all my emotions, fears, loves, but mostly it told the story of me. The story of Clary Fray, filled with rainbows, silhouettes, and the in-betweens. It was something I guarded, naturally, because I wasn't confident- I was shy, and always self-consious about what other people thought. My overall personality was guarded, cautious to people I didn't know. Being my friend or somebody I trusted was like somehow finding a way to climb over the high towers of a castle, and then making your way through an alligator-filled moat. It was risky, and death was pretty common, but if you made it to the Golden City, the rewards were great.

Jace plucked the sketchbook out of my hands, and held it over his head which made my efforts completely useless, because he was at least seven inches than me. Despite my pleas, he started going through my drawings, and I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his reaction. Imagine some kid you don't even know going through your whole phone, checking your texts, emails, and Facebook and whatnot. To me this was ten times worse, because that sketchbook was my whole life. I opened my eyes, hoping he was done, and I saw him dangling my sketchbook, the page open to my most recent sketch.

"Drawing me, now are you? I know I'm gorgeous, but really? I don't even know you that well."

"It's not even you, asshat. Believe me when I tell you that you're not the best-looking person this Earth has to offer."

As much as I denied it, I could see the resemblance- the features, a toned body, but I resented the fact that he felt like he could flaunt it. Late at night, I had begun drawing somebody- I didn't know who, just that I was drawing whoever it was from a memory I couldn't remember.

"Asshat? Who the hell says that, anyways?"

"I do, thank you very much," I snapped, grabbing my sketchbook and heading for the door.

"Hey, Princess, temper much?" He mocked me. This was the last straw for me, and I turned back, picking up my cup- still half-filled with hot coffee, mind you- and flung the contents onto him. I was actually aiming for his face, but since he was so tall, it ended up hitting somewhere on his chest. He looked up, shocked and I smirked at him.

"That hurt," he protested, eyes narrowed accusingly at me. I shrugged, smirking, and somehow despite the pain, he managed a laugh.

"Man, I spend fifteen minutes with you, and this happens. Imagine what would happen if I spent an hour with you!"

In the short amount of time I had gotten to know Jace, I had learned he always had a sarcastic reply at the tip of tongue. The way he acted, I knew that girls fell for him, and there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that he would lead them on, and break their hearts. Him and Izzy, they were like a pair- except that Izzy had learned to love, slowly, slowly. I wondered if Jace was the some way- did somebody break his heart a long time ago, hardening it? Or was he just like me, guarded to people he didn't know, afraid to trust society. Maybe drinking was his way of tuning out the world, setting him free. Just like me, maybe it was his prison, too.

"Well, I have to go, Jace. See you around, maybe."

"Bye, Princess. Hopefully the next time I see you, I won't end up with a burn," he replied, heading into the back room, probably to get some ice.

I headed out the door, heading towards the School of Visual Arts- where I went to college. I headed back, into studios filled with the scent of fresh paint and wet canvases, and into the world of familiarity.

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry, long time no chapter. I've been really busy, and plus I realized just how addicted I am to Tumblr. But Nutcracker is over, so hopefully I'll have more time now. Sorry if the flow is kind of awkward, but I figured I'd post it, and I'll try to fix that soon!**

**Thanks for sticking around- I'm really grateful for all the follows, favorites, and reviews :D**

**BTW, I don't own TMI or related characters in any shape, way, or form :). **


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